And still he did not enter her.
Aigneis ached inside, something tightened and tightened and she could only feel. He brushed her hands away when she tried to reach his prick, laughing again, as he relentlessly caressed her.
“Breac,” she called out, infusing her words with every bit of the voice she could. “Take me, Breac. Take me,” she commanded.
Whether the power of the voice or the strength of his arousal and desire, she knew not, but finally he moved into the cradle of her thighs, lifted her legs around his waist, and thrust in until he could go no deeper. Her breath rushed out at the power of his strokes and every muscle of her body from deep inside out to her skin spasmed at the same time.
As she keened out her satisfaction, he began to take his. Slow then faster. Shallow then deep and deeper still. Even paced then without pattern. He took her breath away with the way he filled her time and time again, over and over until she found herself on the edge again and yet again. His young hard body and hungry prick would not be conquered until he wished to give in, so she opened to him, allowing him to do as he wanted and allowing her own body to respond until she’d given everything she could.
Breac must have known, for he laughed wickedly and then rocked himself deep within her, and once more, until she felt the hot release of his seed deep in her body.
Aigneis waited for him to withdraw and move away, but he remained buried inside her for some time—long enough for her breathing to return to normal and the waves and waves of pleasurable throbbing to calm within her. Breac eased from her, but held her close, turning them onto their sides and wrapping his leg around her to keep her there.
It did not take long for the relief brought by that kind of pleasure and the exhaustion that she barely held at bay to return and drag her into sleep. Held tightly in his arms, warmed by the closeness of his body and overwhelmed by the passion she’d just tasted, Aigneis fell deeply asleep.
Breac lay awake before the first glimmers of sun crossed the line of dawn. He heard the morning song of the birds in the forest around them just as the first note was sung. And he held her as she slept. For all that his body was exhausted from the miles traveled over these last five days and the release he experienced deep within her body, Breac could not find sleep.
He’d lost his mind in the night as she offered herself to him and he feared her reaction when she woke. He had taken her, and in spite of the fact she begged, nay ordered him to it, he worried about the vigorous way he’d done it. Worse, if she woke and gave him any sign of wishing to repeat it, he would plow her as deeply and as thoroughly this morn as he had last night.
He did not recognize the ravening beast that must live within him and crave fleshly pleasures, but he knew it would rouse for her at the slightest provocation. She shifted in his arms as though sensing his attention, but she did not wake.
He took advantage of her being asleep and the growing light to search her skin for the marks he knew had been there. Now, there were fewer places where he could see the remnants of bruising and they were lighter than the previous morning when he saw her skin. How had she healed in so little time?
It seemed too unbelievable, but when he considered some of the stories told of the Old Ones and the Sith who’d lived down the glen from the dawn of time, he wondered if it was too farfetched to think it linked to something Otherworldly. Even the healer whom he sought told stories about the old ways and the power of the Sith.
The biggest practical question he had for her was about her past—who was she and who was the lord she’d offended. And what would she do now.
Breac watched her face as she slept and could not stop himself from reaching out and touching her hair. The curls were soft under his fingers and they made her look younger than he thought her to be. The color was different from other shades of gray he’d seen, for it glimmered when the sun’s light touched it instead of being dull and colorless. When he moved his hand away, she gazed up at him.
He had so many questions to ask her, but feared she would continue to avoid answering them. Now, the morning after such a joining seemed a good time to pursue some questions.
“Is it dawn so soon?” she asked, separating from him but remaining close enough for him to feel the heat of her body, and she his.
“Nearly. The birds will begin their morning song soon,” he said. One did just as he said it and he smiled. “Like that one.”
“How much farther to the lake?” she asked, sitting up and searching the ground around them. She did not ask him often and did not complain at his answers.
“About eight hours traveling to reach the southern end. I need to reach it by dark, so we can take a boat in the morning,” he explained. He remained as he was, unconcerned with his nakedness as she stood and began picking up the clothing that was flung in nearly every corner of their shelter. His trews, her gown and tunic, her shift and stockings.
As she walked to retrieve the garments, he examined every inch of her skin he could see. Not a sign of injury. No sign of lash or cane. Nothing. She noticed his attention and sat at his side.
“Did I imagine it then?” he asked. “Were the bruises only a trick of the light?” He reached out and touched the skin on her shoulder where a large handprint had been . . . and now was gone.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You did not imagine it.” She tugged her shift over her head and into place. The gown and tunic followed.
“How does it happen? I want to understand,” he offered.
“I know not how it happens, Breac. I heal. I heal quickly.”
She seemed irritated by his questions. As she pulled first one then the other stocking on and tied them in place, she shrugged. “I cannot explain it.”
She would not explain it, for he could read that expression in her eyes and it spoke of knowing exactly how it worked. And why it happened as well. So, although she trusted him with her body for comfort and pleasure, she did not trust him with her past. Since they’d known each other for less than two days, it wasn’t something he expected her to do.
“Can you heal others?” His first thought when she revealed even this little was of Fenella.
“Nay,” she said tersely without even sparing a glance at him. Had she tried and failed? Was her exile due to that?
“How many years have you?” he asked, hoping she would answer a nonthreatening question after refusing the other.
She stood and moved away, searching for and finding the shoes he’d bought for her. Aigneis sat on a rock and tied them in place, without saying a word. Just when he thought she would not answer him, she spoke.
“How old do you think I am?”
He’d watched her walk around the sheltered area. He’d seen and touched her body, and though tempted to say as old as him, Breac knew she was older. He climbed to his feet now, pulled on his trews, and stared at her from a few paces away, searching for clues.
“I have twenty-and-five years. I think you are older.”
She nodded her head in reply. Finished dressing, she began to walk away.
“How many years, Aigneis?” He followed her as she set off for the stream. “How many years?” he called out. She mumbled some number and disappeared into the trees.
He’d heard the number, but shook his head in disbelief. Most women of that age in his village were already grandmothers. Or widowed. Or married again if they’d survived that long. Yet she survived and somehow managed to look fifteen years younger than the age she said. It could not be.
Breac decided he would ask no more questions of her. If he could not or would not accept her answers, it made no sense to pursue them. In spite of what happened between them, she would stay with him, with them, until Fenella recovered and then be on her way. He would find a wife and settle in as Lord Malcolm’s overseer.
She returned from the stream and he took his turn there. After she commented that it would take her nine hours to walk what he could in eight, they ate quickly, packed up their supplies,
and began walking.
Hours later, after the sun peaked and dropped from its highest point in the sky, Breac realized they would not reach the lake by nightfall. ’Twas not because of Aigneis, for she kept up his hard pace through the entire day, but just because he’d misjudged the distance he had left. Still, they should reach the lake in the morning, with time enough left in the day to reach home by dark tomorrow.
“You should go on without me, Breac,” she said. Her soft voice coming from behind as he stood in the road both grieving his mistake and trying to accept it. “Surely you can reach the lake on your own.”
He turned to look at her and realized she was in earnest. “And that will gain me what? I will still have to wait until morn to hire a boat.” He shook his head. “And I will worry with each step about your safety and whether you will find the way there.”
The admission surprised him because he’d spent the day convincing himself that there was nothing between them except a shared need for physical release. Yet he realized he spoke the truth to her. He had invited her to come home with him, so she was his responsibility and he could not abandon her now.
“I will not hold you up in the morn,” she promised as she took the sacks from him to unpack their food.
They worked well together, having gotten into a pattern each time they stopped. She would set out the food, he would refill the skins from the stream. As had happened last night, she set out their bedding while he gathered wood and made a fire. Soon, in a short time, their camp was set and night was falling.
Breac watched as her eyes drifted shut for a moment and then opened widely as she fought sleep. Then again, but this time they remained closed longer before opening. Her ability to fall asleep was different from his, for he tossed and turned for a long time each night before finding rest.
“Aigneis,” he whispered, trying to get her attention without startling her. He stood and put the remains of their meal back in the sack and tucked it away before approaching her. “Aigneis? ’Tis time to sleep.”
She roused long enough to take his hand and let him see her to the covered ground next to the fire. He laid down first and helped her down to lie at his side. Once settled side by side, she rolled toward him and nestled in his arms as sleep took her.
He did not sleep then, so that a few hours later when she woke from this deep rest, he was yet awake. Breac was too restless and wondered why she’d awakened.
“I would heal her if I could, Breac. I owe you that much,” she said quietly. Sliding away from him, she stared at him as though willing him to something.
“I think you would,” he admitted. Reaching out and touching her cheek with the back of his hand, he stroked it gently.
He did believe she would if she could.
There was a sadness in her gaze now as she met his, but she offered no words to explain that either. He climbed to his feet.
“I will be back. I need to . . . walk a bit,” he said.
She said nothing, only watching him with those silver gray eyes as he walked toward the stream. He suspected that nothing would help him sleep this night. All he could do was to count the minutes until the sun rose and he could be on his way home.
Breac never saw her stand and follow his path.
Chapter 8
Fenella was dead.
Aigneis shivered as she thought the words—the words, the declaration, that troubled her more as they moved closer to his village and his sister. Even if forced to it, she could not explain how she knew, but it was, she feared, the truth.
And it would destroy this good man.
His restlessness was palpable to her as he struggled through the night before the day came that would see him home. Even now, as he walked away because he could not identify the real reason for it, she could.
Once back among her family and away from the Sith, Aigneis discovered she had some talents or skills. Coming with no regularity or explanation, sometimes she could see things that were not around her. At first she thought she was dreaming while awake, but later she realized that these were visions of a past or present or future event. She could hear things—sometimes people’s thoughts unspoken rang inside her head. Sometimes the truth of a matter would echo around her, clear to no one else but her.
And she healed. When she first noticed it, she had tried to use the living force that seemed to pulse through her at times to aid others, but there never seemed enough to work on any other person, only her.
It took her a long time to realize that these too were remnants, but not of her time with the Sith. These were shadows of the powers the Sith prince had gifted her sons with before their births and his curse. Her body must have absorbed some of it as it passed through her to them, but not enough to do anything but drive her mad.
And so she watched others around her suffer and die and fail because she knew only enough to know such power existed, but not enough to use it. As though losing her sons was not a terrible enough punishment, this too was another one given to her by the Sith.
Now, she knew, she knew, that Breac’s sister had already passed away and there was nothing she could say or do. And once he discovered the truth, he would blame himself for more than he was responsible for in this.
Aigneis followed him down toward the stream, realizing there was only one thing she could do to comfort him—give him release from the tension within and make him rest so that he faced the trying day alert. He would lose many nights of sleep in the coming days to grief, but she could make this be a restful one.
She owed him that much and more for giving her a second chance to live.
Aigneis closed her eyes and took a deep breath in and released it. What she planned would be the last time she drew on such power, but she did not grieve the loss of it. Indeed, it had caused much trouble for her and she would be glad to be rid of it, and for such a good cause as this. She undressed then, tossing her clothing aside and standing in the chill night air naked. Tiny gooseflesh rose on her skin and her nipples and breasts tightened in response to the coolness around her. Raising her arms up, she faced the small sliver of cresent moon and began to sing.
Not human song, but the song of the Sith.
As the sound and tones in her mixed and came forth, she chanted the old words and sent them out to Breac. Not many people could harness Sith song, but she had been able to, much to the delight of the prince and the consternation of his queen. She did not truly understand whatever words she sang or how it truly happened, but her body and soul could use them to call forth pleasure or desire or more.
She used them now to call Breac to her in the night. With the power of such song, she could offer him pleasures of the flesh that would empty him of the restlessness in his soul and body and allow him rest. Though the Sith prince enjoyed such pleasures, she’d never been tempted to use this song with Donnell. Now, the pain in Breac’s heart spurred her to offer it for what would be the last time.
He walked toward her now, unable to resist such a call, and she waited for him. When he stood before her, she moved around him, stroking him and touching him and preparing to comfort him and ease the coming pain. With no resistance from him to slow her efforts, she unlaced his shirt and trews and tugged them from him. Within moments, he stood as naked as she.
His body was magnificent, young and strong and in his prime, and even now it responded to the call in the song. His prick thickened and lengthened, standing forth from the nest of dark brown curls at its base. The song came from within her, swirling sounds in the air, glimmering like fireflies around them.
Aigneis reached up, standing on her toes nearly, and kissed him. His mouth was firm and hot beneath hers and soon he took over, sliding his fingers into her hair and holding her head close as he plundered her mouth. Like the movements he would make with his prick, he slipped his tongue in and out, tasting and feeling, until they were breathless.
The song still poured forth from within her.
Breac released his grasp on her and she moved
down over his skin, kissing and licking his chest, suckling on his male nipples until he gasped, and then kissing her way down the rippling muscles of his stomach. She smiled as his breathing grew ragged. She felt his hands on her head once more, his fingers flexing through her hair, massaging her scalp, while gently pushing her toward his erect flesh.
Aigneis knelt before him, bracing herself on his strong legs, and took his prick in her mouth. He whispered her name through clenched teeth as she slid down him, taking the length of him deep into her mouth and throat. Her fingers teased the sensitive sac beneath his shaft as she pulled back and slid down again, and again, until he was calling out her name into the silence of the night around them.
His moan when his release happened filled the night air and she suckled him for every drop of it. She had barely swallowed it when he took her by her arms and pulled her up and into his embrace. She laughed as he took over and spread her legs around his waist, walking to their bed. Then he knelt down, laying her on the cloak, and kissed her body the way she had his.
Aigneis’s song continued as he spread her legs and, though ready once more, he leaned down to use his mouth there. Now, her cries mingled with the other sounds of the night as he kissed and licked and suckled the flesh between her legs, bringing her to release several times before stopping.
Before she could breathe again, he moved forward and filled her, thrusting his hardness in as far as he could and then out again. Her muscles spasmed and she shook at the power of his flesh to bring her to satisfaction so quickly. Barely had the inner walls of her woman’s core finished, then he began anew to torment and touch and thrust his flesh into hers, making her scream out from the pleasure.
Aigneis felt the end of the song approaching, so she changed it as he spilled into her body. She sang of oblivion and rest and his body relaxed against hers as the song ended. The last words vibrated through them as he fell asleep, still buried deep inside her body . . . and her soul.
From Undone: A Storm of Love, A Novella Page 5
